


Lies Angels Tell Us

by unholyseraphs (oncharredwings)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Cheating, Hearing Voices, M/M, Prequel, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncharredwings/pseuds/unholyseraphs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy Novak hears voices - he's been hearing them his entire life. They claim themselves to be angels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies Angels Tell Us

_An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified._

_Luke 2:9_

 

“Have the voices talked to you today?”

 

There was snow swirling down from the sky in white clusters, all fighting and grappling with one another to reach the ground first. They were ready to join their fallen brethren.

 

“Jimmy.”

 

Jimmy turned his startling blue eyes away from the window to focus on his doctor’s skeptical brown ones. “Hm?”

 

“I said, have the voices talked to you today?”

 

Jimmy moved his eyes back to the outside world, where the trees stood gray against the white backdrop of the snowfall. The voices - the angels - had talked to him today; they talked to him everyday. Mostly about the same thing. There was no point in lying, so he just nodded, not giving up any explanation.

 

“And, what did the voices say today?”

 

A heartbeat’s breadth passed before he answered. “What they always say.”

 

“They told you that you have a higher purpose for God?”

 

He nodded. “Yeah. Just like always.”

 

His doctor made a slight noise as he wrote down some notes in his notebook. Jimmy glanced at the highlighter yellow paper before dashing his eyes back out to the trees. They stood starkly, bare, and reaching for the empty sky, like the faithful reaching for God. His parents were some of the faithful, always in search of revelation.

 

Jimmy had never seen them reach such a height. The angels spoke to him daily and he never reached revelation either.

 

“Do you still believe the voices are angels, Jimmy?”

 

“They _are_ angels.”

 

More writing, more marks, more notes. Jimmy glared, wishing he could reach over, snatch the ugly writing pad, and toss it away. No one believed him, no one _believed_ in angels, not like he did at least. Even his parents, who were _devout_ , God-fearing people, believed the way he did. They did not believe their son was hearing angels whisper in his ear; they did not believe he was sane.

 

So, he ended up talking to a shrink every week.

 

Their conversations hardly ever deviated. It was always the same. He was asked about the voices, he was asked if he still believed they were angels, and then he was given exercises to complete, and then asked about the medication he was on. Was he still taking his medication? Was he feeling better? Jimmy never admitted to his doctor or parents that he wasn’t taking the pills; he was flushing them down the toilet every day.

 

He didn’t _need_ meds that were given to patients with schizophrenia. He didn’t _have_ schizophrenia. Angels were real and they talked to _him_. They always had.

 

\--

 

_“Jimmy.”_

 

_Jimmy glanced up from his toys. Someone had whispered his name._

 

_“Jimmy.”_

 

_His quizzical eyes moved all around the room, trying to pinpoint the voice, but nothing stood out to him. He slowly went back to playing._

 

_“Jimmy. We chose you. You have a purpose for God. You are God’s chosen.”_

 

_He didn’t know what it meant but he tried to ignore them, simply playing louder, talking to himself as loudly as he could without disturbing his parents._

 

_“Jimmy.”_

 

\--

 

Six years old and angels spoke to him as if he had been an adult.

 

After that first encounter, they came more frequently, whispering new messages. Sometimes they came in clear as day, other times, only through static, as if they were having a hard time reaching his mind. He had affectionately called it angel radio.

 

Of course, no one had believed him then either. Simply dismissing him as a child with imaginary friends. It wasn’t until he reached an age where imaginary friends were no longer _cool_ or _hip_ , that his friends started abandoning him, and his teachers started to worry.

 

\--

 

_“Boys his age shouldn’t talk to themselves or to imaginary friends. It just isn’t natural.”_

 

_Jimmy stared pointedly at the desk while his teacher expressed her fears to his parents. His mother gasped, as if she were truly horrified, and his father muttered something that he didn’t catch._

 

_“Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?” his father demanded._

 

 _“No, Sir,” he replied. He was only twelve. Why didn’t anyone believe him? Why didn’t anyone understand that the angels had_ chosen _him?_

 

 _“We apologize if our son has disturbed your class or any of your students, Miss. Norrison. We will take_ care _of him as soon as we get home.” There was a promise in his father’s voice that made Jimmy tear up. He did not like his father’s punishments._

 

_They left the school, his mother ushering him to the car quickly, even as the other parents stared at them as if they knew the Novak’s son were a pariah. They probably did; their town was not exactly huge. The car ride was mostly silent, except for the occasional shift or road noise, his parents elected to say nothing at all. He, too, held his tongue._

 

_The angels would protect him. Surely, they would protect their chosen one._

 

_When they were all in the house, his father told his mother to leave the room, which she did, walking back to the kitchen. Jimmy glanced up the long line of his father until they were looking each other in the eye. Strong hands had him by the hair, which made him tear up, and then his father was forcing him to bend over, the slick sound of a belt slipping through loops soon following._

 

 _“Dad, I’m_ sorry _,” he tried to protest, but his pants were being yanked down, leaving him bare assed to the world. The sting of the belt cut into his sensitive skin soon after. Even biting his tongue hard enough to make his mouth sprout blood did nothing to take the pain away. He only cried, trying not to sob at all, while his father lashed him until his skin bled._

 

_“No more angel-talk,” his father snarled firmly. “Do you understand me, boy?”_

 

 _“Yes, Sir,” he replied weakly, trying to pull up his clothing, but the fabric stung his legs and ass. It hurt so badly; it was the worst spanking he had ever endured, but he managed to walk up the stairs to his bedroom before collapsing on his bed. The tears and sobs, muffled by pillows and blankets, came after_.

 

\--

 

After the beating, Jimmy had stopped talking about the voices for a long time. Not until after they started coming with so much frequencing, he had started to suffer from seizures.

 

\--

 

_Static in his head. Static in his ears. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static._

 

_“Jimmy!!”_

 

\--

 

The seizures made his entire body flap around on the ground with no control over his limbs. The angels kept promising him, in little whispers and hisses, that he would soon be called to serve his purpose. He just had to wait. That was all. Just wait. So, he waited. And waited.

 

They still had not called him for his purpose.

 

He was starting to wonder if they ever would. It was the first time he had doubted the angels. But, he was turning eighteen tomorrow, finally able to graduate high school. Maybe even marry his girlfriend, Amelia. She was perfect because she didn’t think he was crazy. Of course, she didn’t _know_ he talked to angels. He had stopped telling people, and his parents didn’t even tell people he saw a shrink.

 

He didn’t tell Amelia that either.

 

“Have you been taking your medication?”

 

 _No_. “Yes.”

 

“Good.” His doctor nodded. “I think we can be done here for today, Jimmy. Just, keep taking your medication, and your therapy exercises. Alright?”

 

“Sure,” he replied with a fake smile before standing up. The boring office left him behind as he walked back out into the cold snow, which was now blowing and swirling with so much intensity he could hardly see his car.

 

_“Jimmy.”_

 

Jimmy shut his eyes and tried to banish the static away, but there was pressure building up behind his eyelids. 

 

_“Jimmy.”_

 

He gasped and felt his body collapse underneath him. Then-

 

_Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static._

\--

 

“Oh, good, you’re awake.”

 

Jimmy glanced around tiredly as his eyes slowly began to open, like a dark curtain unveiling the stage. His parents, both of them, and Amelia were all sitting around him. His father didn’t look worried, while both his mother and Amelia stared at him as if they had both seen a ghost.

 

“Jimmy!” Amelia gasped, reaching to take one of his hands in both of hers.

 

He offered her a reassuring, kind smile. “I’m okay.”

 

“The doctor said you collapsed outside of his office!” she cried. “You’re okay, right?”

 

“Yes, Amelia, I’m fine. Promise. It just happens sometimes.”

 

“Have you been taking your medication?” his mother asked.

 

“Yes, Mother.” He _had_ been taking seizure medication, since _those_ were no fun. He couldn’t afford to have one while driving or going to and from school. That was how you ended up dead or killing other people.

 

“Good.” His mother stood up then, to inform the doctor he was awake, or so she said, but he just kept smiling at Amelia. She was his saving grace in the dark world he called his life.

 

She was everything.

 

The doctor came in afterward, checking him over to make sure he was doing alright. As far as they could tell, he was fine again. After his IV drip emptied, he could go home. Probably to receive another beating from the look on his father’s face. Maybe if Amelia stayed.

 

“I have to get going.”

 

It was as if she had read his mind. “Why?” he asked, reaching to hold onto her hand.

 

“A youth group meeting,” she replied, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. They were nothing but chaste in front of his parents. He knew, that deep down, Amelia was no virgin, and he wasn’t either. They were not always the most devout couple. “If you need anything Mrs. Novak, let me know.”

 

His mother nodded. “Thank you Amelia, you’re so wonderful to us all.”

 

Amelia blushed, smiled, and then she was leaving them. Jimmy felt his heart sink as soon as she left the room. He didn’t dare look to his father. He didn’t need to.

 

\--

 

Bruises the color of prunes rested beneath his paper-thin skin, blooming across his body like diseased wildflowers. Jimmy studied himself in the mirror of his parent’s bathroom. They were at some event for church and he had stayed home because his mother was still worried about him seizing. So, why she had left him alone, he would never understand, but he continued to walk his fingers along his ribcage instead. Sucking in his stomach as tightly as he could, he soon let out a whoosh of air from the pain it caused.

 

_“Jimmy. Jimmy. Jimmy.”_

 

He shut his eyes. Only to open them again and this time focus on the voices. Allow them to pull him under their guise.

 

 _“You are doing well Jimmy,”_ a voice like chocolate breathed into his ear. It was deep and wondrous. Something wet trickled down his neck. Blood. The voice, so beautiful, had made his ears bleed.

 

“I am?” he asked them.

 

_“Yes. You are going to be a perfect vessel one day. Keep your head high, Jimmy, our son. Our savior.”_

 

Savior? He was their savior? Wasn’t Jesus their savior? Jimmy frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hardly ever talked back to the angels anymore, just allowing them to do as they would. But this, this made him want to talk back; to ask, to wonder. He held his tongue anyway.

 

_“One day, you will be tested to prove your faith. But not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.”_

 

Jimmy rubbed his eyes, fighting the static as it began to creep in at the edges of his mind. He jerked when the doorbell rang. His body still ached, but he was quick to throw his clothes back on, rushing down the stairs to answer the door. It was Amelia. He smiled.

 

“Hi,” she greeted him, her own smile already on. “You look tired, should I go?”

 

“No,” he replied quickly. “Stay. Please.”

 

“Okay.” Amelia nodded as she stepped over the threshold into the house, taking his hand, and then they were sitting on the couch together with the lights off. If the lights were off then the nosey neighbors wouldn’t be able to see them making out, which was what they ended up doing for two hours. Making out and messing around, tugging at each other’s clothes, but he mostly kept his on, so she didn’t have to see the mess his father had made of him.

 

His hands sought out her body though, eagerly memorizing every curve, imperfection, and sensitive spot. He touched her until she came and then she had to go home again. Which was just as well since his parents would return home soon, and they had no idea their son was most definitely not following the rule to abstinence before marriage. After college, he and Amelia would be married, and then they could have sex as much as they wanted.

 

Hopefully, the angels wouldn’t think less of him for his sexual deviancy.

 

Hopefully, Amelia would never find out about them. Hopefully, the angels would hurry up with his greater purpose so he could move on with his life.

 

\--

 

“We think you should go into ministry.”

 

He didn’t want to go into ministry.

 

“It would be a safe path, Jimmy. Something we feel you would be _good_ at.”

 

He didn’t want to go into ministry.

 

“You could still serve God and perhaps God can help you find some peace with the, erm, _angels_.”

 

He didn’t want to go into ministry.

 

“Do you understand?”

 

Jimmy stared at his mother for a long time before finally speaking. “Okay, Mother. If you think I should, then, you’re probably right.”

 

She smiled and placed her hand against his face. “Good.”

 

\--

 

Seminary had strict rules:

 

  1. He couldn’t have money. Since, priests lived in poverty, he had to too. It was awful when he needed to go to the grocery store or pharmacy or anywhere else that required buying _something_.
  2. He couldn’t be alone. Ever. They always had to travel in pairs; the only time he was alone was when he traveled home on the rare weekend.
  3. No leisure devices allowed, not even works of fiction
  4. Their curfew was strictly by 10 p.m.
  5. Everyone around him was male



 

That wasn’t a rule, just a regulation. No women allowed. Amelia couldn’t even visit him. He didn’t like seminary and was already considering leaving. He had only just enrolled - it was August 28th. The heat was making sweat stick to his body beneath his uniform, which was the other annoyance; black slacks, white polo shirt in the summer, white turtleneck in the winter, and black dress shoes.

 

Not to mention, for a place built on the idea of _not_ sinning, there were more than enough sins to go around. Tom and George were having sex on a regular basis; Jimmy only knew this because he caught them behind some bushes once. He had stared, stunned, having never seen men having sex before, but it was all over the news. With AIDs and everything else, the ‘homosexual scare’ was abundant in this part of the world. He would be a liar if he had said he hadn’t become aroused at the graphic imagery.

 

Afterward, Jimmy had been so curious, he had done a bit of sinning himself with a kid named Tyler. He had met Tyler at a gas station, he worked there most nights. Lucky for him, his two-by-two partner didn’t feel the need to go with him, so around eight, Jimmy had made his way to the gas station, met up with Tyler on his break, and let Tyler give him a blow job. It had been a _religious_ experience.

 

Ever since then, he hadn’t been sure if he should tell Amelia he was gay or not. She had never given him a blow job before, so maybe he just really liked blow jobs, he wasn’t really sure. The only way he knew for certain to find out if he were gay was to either have sex with a guy or find some gay porn to touch himself. He had come to a conclusion that he truly did not like seminary at all.

 

He also hated the fact that ever since he had started seminary, the angels had stopped talking to him. No seizures. No voices. Just silence. His mother called it a blessing. He called it disturbing. After a lifetime of angels talking to him, he felt empty without their voices right in his ear. Why had they stopped talking to him? Was he too sinful now? He had let a man suck his cock in a dirty gas station bathroom, maybe that was enough for the angels to leave him behind in order to find a less sinful boy to fulfill his higher purpose. Maybe God hated him now. Maybe now he would not go to Heaven when he died.

 

Maybe, he didn’t care either way, and maybe he wanted free of his higher purpose.

 

Maybe he just wanted to fool around.

 

Either way, Jimmy was no fan of seminary, and he wanted to go to a community college instead. At least then he could figure out what to do with his life.

 

\--

 

The gas station was cold at three in the morning. His breath slid out of him, looking like smoke or mist, he couldn’t decide which. Tyler was just inside picking up condoms. He was going to do it; he was going to have sex with Tyler. He almost felt guilty for leading Tyler on, but it was the only way he felt comfortable figuring out if he were gay or not. Amelia never had to know, neither did his parents. Especially not his parents. If _they_ found out, he would be disowned for sure.

 

Tyler returned with the condoms, stuffing them in his pocket, and then they were on their way, walking down the street. Neither of them owned a car, so walking was the only way to get around _anywhere_ in the small town. They didn’t exchange words, not even when they came to Tyler’s small apartment, or when the door was shut and they were left to stare at one another in the dim lighting of his living room.

 

Tyler moved first.

 

Jimmy stood perfectly still as Tyler began to undress him; first his coat, then his button up, then his undershirt. It went on and on.  The clothes were stripped away until he stood in nothing at all. He felt small and cold, standing in the darkened living room, completely naked. Tyler sat down on the couch and wrapped his hand around his dick, which wasn’t what he was expecting, but perhaps, he was going to get another blow job. He liked blow jobs.

 

“You nervous?” Tyler asked as his hand began to pump Jimmy to hard, working his sac and shaft at once.

 

He nodded. He was most definitely nervous. “Yeah,” he whispered.

 

“Don’t be. It’s _good_.” Tyler smiled up at him, even giving him a wink.

 

Jimmy stared down at Tyler, watching his lover open his mouth and swallow him down. A gasp flooded his lungs, and he had to steady himself with a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. The blow job felt amazing. He wanted to get more of them and often. If Amelia ever did such a thing to him, he would be the happiest man on Earth.

 

Tyler was bobbing his head, taking him further down his throat, until Jimmy was certain he felt the back. A cry of pleasure escaped him and he could threw his head up to the ceiling, staring at the cracks and water stains. Were the angels watching him now? Were they seeing him receive oral sex from a man? Were they watching him cheat on his girlfriend? Did they care?

 

Were they blind?

 

Did they stop caring about him?

 

Did they turn blind eyes and deaf ears to his sins?

 

Had the angels ever been real?

 

Jimmy slid his fingers into Tyler’s hair and pulled hard, his breathing picking up as he grew closer to orgasm. He drew back his hips and slammed against Tyler’s face once. Twice. Three times. He fucked Tyler’s face. He fucked it as hard and fast as he could, not caring when Tyler reached and grasped for him to stop. He just kept going. Until Tyler fell back limp, passed out from lack of oxygen. He stopped then.

 

He watched as Tyler’s body fell back onto the ground, hitting his head against the couch. He stared and stared, reaching to feel for Tyler’s pulse. It was weakly thrumming under his fingers. What if he killed Tyler? What if he took Tyler’s life and sinned so greatly he would surely end up in Hell? Would God forgive him? Would the _angels_ forgive him? Could he still fulfill his greater purpose then? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

 

Jimmy turned and quickly pulled his clothes back on. The door was locked when he attempted to open it, and he wrestled with the lock for what felt like an eternity before finally being able to escape back into the cold, dark, early morning. The air smacked against his face so cold and sharp, he winced.

 

Where were the angels now? Why were they so quiet? No sin woke them. Maybe he really had been crazy after all. Maybe he really was schizophrenic. Jimmy shook his head and continued down the street, walking at first, but soon he was breaking out into a run; running away from what, he didn’t know, but he ran as hard and fast as he could. His lungs burned. His eyes stung. His legs ached. But no static.

 

Nothing.

 

\--

 

“You _cheated_ on me?”

 

He hadn’t meant to tell her but seminary made him feel guilty.

 

“With a man?”

 

Jimmy glanced down at his shoes, feeling helpless. “Yeah,” he whispered.

 

“And you got kicked out of seminary?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“And your parents kicked you out onto the street?”

 

He nodded. “Yes.”

 

Amelia stared at him as if he had lost his mind, which was a completely valid response in his opinion. “I don’t know what to say, Jimmy.”

 

Jimmy looked up at her, his eyes searching for forgiveness. “Amelia, I’ll do _anything_ to make this up to you, I swear.”

 

“What makes you think that I’d want you back?” she whispered, taking a step away from him.

 

It was almost Christmas, there was snow all around them, it was the picture perfect day for December. The sun wasn’t quite shining but it wasn’t quite gray and dull either. Just enough to keep the scenery sparkling, not enough to make it warm. Jimmy glanced around the park they had chosen to meet at so they could _talk_. He didn’t tell her that he knew she had also cheated on him. He had video to prove it.

 

A friend of his had taken the video on his camcorder. She had been partying with some friends, dancing with a guy too closely, soon afterward kissing him, and allowing the stranger to grab a handful of her ass. Even in the face of her dumping him, he did not bring up his knowledge. If she dumped him, while simultaneously being a hypocrite, then so be it.

 

“I love you, Amelia,” he said firmly. “I want to marry you.”

 

“You have no job Jimmy, you have nowhere to live, and you got kicked out of seminary. _Why_ would I marry you?” She shook her head, her arms folding in annoyance.

 

“Because I know what makes you laugh,” he replied. “I know how to make you smile, how to romance you. I know what you want out of life, and I can _get_ a job, Amelia. I hated seminary. Maybe I can go to college and get a degree in something I _want_ to do. God was never my calling.”

 

“You _love_ God.”

 

“I didn’t say I didn’t love God. I didn’t say I stopped believing. I just don’t think I was meant to be a priest. Will you please give me another chance?”

 

“Are your experimenting days over?” she asked, looking skeptical and annoyed.

 

He wanted to tell her _no_ but he held his tongue. Having sex with men had been on his mind in a constant loop ever since Tyler. If he were going to get kicked out of his home and seminary for it, then he wanted to _do_ it. If he had to, he would just keep sneaking around. She probably would do the same. They would be hypocrites living together.

 

“Yeah,” he replied. “My experimenting days are over.”

 

There was a long pause before she took a deep breath. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you.”

 

\--

 

Married life with Amelia was not as terrible as he had envisioned it being. They moved together to Pontiac, Illinois where they intended to make a family together. It was also where Jimmy had found a job, selling ad time on AM radio. It wasn’t a glorious job, but it paid decent money. Enough so that Amelia could stay at home if she wanted to. She didn’t, but she could have.

 

The house they lived in was much bigger than either of them could afford but Amelia’s parents were helping them pay for it, which was much more than his parents were doing, which was nothing. He hadn’t heard from his family ever since he left; they hadn’t even come to the wedding.

 

The angels still didn’t talk to him, which he supposed was better than hearing them constantly. Much better, even. He no longer felt insane for one thing. He felt normal… or as normal as he could with his homosexual tendencies still living below the surface of his skin, threatening to boil over into his life.

 

Especially with their neighbor. His name was Dallas, which Amelia was convinced he was some type of porn star. Jimmy didn’t mind him; he was nice, hailing from Texas no less, and he had a friendly disposition. Not to mention his body was probably made of marble. Jimmy was watching him through the living room window on his day off, while Amelia was at work at the hospital; she had become a nurse, and  was always gone. It was both a blessing and a curse.

 

Dallas was in the middle of fixing his truck, his head buried in the engine. Each movement he made, Jimmy could see the muscles moving beneath his skin like rippling water. Suddenly, his jeans became too uncomfortable and he wanted out of them immediately. Pushing them down his thighs, Jimmy didn’t think twice before wrapping his hand around his hardening erection, sighing as he focused on Dallas’ body, picturing the other man coming into his home, shoving him facedown into the couch, and fucking him until he begged for it to stop.

 

Amelia still didn’t give him blow jobs.

 

Jimmy began to pant, breathing harder with each pass of his hand, his focus fixated on his neighbor. Any momentand Dallas could look up and see him staring. That’s what he wanted. He _wanted_ Dallas to see him watching. He wanted it more than anything else. His cock grew slick with precome and Jimmy sped up his hand, listening to the wet noises in pleasure, his jaw hanging open as he moaned, still focused on Dallas’ shirtless top. His eyes traveled down to the band at his waist, wondering how _hung_ Dallas happened to be. He was probably huge.

 

The fire burning in his stomach made him groan again, bucking his hips erratically as he finally started to come. As he began to make a mess, Dallas looked up and over at the house. There was no mistaking what he had been doing. There was no hiding the come all over his shirt or his pleasured expression. Eyes half lidded, Jimmy slowed his hand, allowing it to fall away, now simply showing off for Dallas. The look on his neighbor’s face was a mix of shock and arousal.

 

Smiling.

 

\--

 

Dallas’ Adam’s apple bobbed with his thrusts. He stared up at that one spot on Dallas while they fucked on Dallas’ bed. After the masturbation show, Dallas had walked over, and Jimmy had let him in. They’d made out. Then they had ended up in Dallas’ house. On his bed. Fucking.

 

Jimmy panted heavily, eyes roving down Dallas’ body down to where his dick was going in and out of him rapidly. His own cock was hard, lying against his stomach, the head shiny. A desperate, quiet noise filled his throat as the desire to orgasm almost grew overwhelming. His eyes screwed shut.

 

 _Jimmy_.

 

And open again.

 

He gasped.

 

 _Jimmy_.

 

“No,” he gasped. Dallas either didn’t hear him or he ignored him. Jimmy shut his eyes, trying to simply feel the pleasure and not the encroaching static.

 

_Jimmy. What are you doing Jimmy? This is not your task. Stop this madness._

 

He cried out.

 

To his own ears, he sounded as if he were in pain. Not pleasure. But Dallas kept going and Jimmy began to fuck him back, his fingers digging into broad biceps for purchase. He had to sweat his demons out.

 

_Jimmy. Jimmy Novak. Jimmy. Jimmy. Jimmy-_

 

Jimmy screamed as he came and the static came slamming right behind his eyelids.

 

There was nothing.

 

\--

 

_Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static._

 

\--

 

“Don’t tell my wife.”

 

That was the only thing he said to Dallas when he came to, even as Dallas was panicked over what had happened. He had a feeling they would not be having sex again. After he sat up, had some water, and redressed, Jimmy went back home, feeling exhausted. The seizures always left him feeling drained. At least this time, it hadn’t been a seizure where he convulsed badly enough to hurt himself, just some twitching, and being completely unresponsive.

 

Dallas told him to see a doctor. He knew that he didn’t need to see a doctor. A witch doctor maybe, but not a real doctor. So, he nodded, accepted the advice, and went home to bury himself under three blankets with the curtains drawn and lights off. He even left a note for Amelia.

 

Really fucking tired, please don’t disturb.

 

Which was probably rude, now that he thought on what he had written, but it was too late now. He was too damn tired to get up again, so he remained in bed, his eyes firmly shut. The angels didn’t talk to him again.

 

\--

 

“Are you feeling alright? Jimmy? Jimmy?”

 

His wife’s voice startled him right out of a dead sleep. “What?”

 

“I said are you feeling alright?” Amelia was levering over him, touching his forehead with her hand.

 

“I’m fine, just real tired… What time is it?”

 

“Seven,” she said quickly, stroking his hair back off his forehead. “I could make you some tea or something to eat. Are you hungry?”

 

“Um… I just want to sleep.” He allowed his body to relax back into he soft cushions of the bed. “Please.”

 

“Oh… well alright.”

 

He waited for Amelia to leave, slowly rubbing his eyes tiredly. Apparently, she couldn’t read a note.

 

\--

 

“I feel like I’m losing you, Jimmy.”

 

Amelia was standing in the doorway to their bedroom. He frowned, titling his head to the side. “What?”

 

“I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t know what I’m doing _wrong_. Please just tell me, I want to make it right between us. I _love_ you and I forgive you for cheating on me, Jimmy. We’re married now, and we hardly touch, or kiss, or make love… I want a baby.” She stared at him with tears in her eyes, like stars about to fall to their deaths, twinkling in the night sky.

 

 _Make a wish_ , he thought.

 

“Okay,” he said with a nod. “That’s fair. Wanting a baby… Look, Amelia, I’m sorry for being so withdrawn. I just… I’ve had a lot on my mind. I feel like… I feel as if I’ve lost my connection with God and it’s making me feel lost.”

 

“We could join a church,” she suggested, walking over to sit with him, her hands holding onto his then. “I think we should join the local church, don’t you? We could start this Sunday. Get up, get dressed up, seek out God, again.”

 

“Okay,” he whispered.

 

“And the baby?”

 

He leaned over to kiss her slowly. Her lips were soft like cotton was soft, like something plush and pliant, prepared to mold itself to his liking. She wrapped her arms around him, slowly sliding onto his lap, her knees straddling either side of his hips. He stared up at her, sliding his fingers through her soft, golden hair, watching her pupils dilate slowly as his other hand slid down her body and into her scrubs, over the cotton panties. She was already damp.

 

“I take this, as a yes.”

 

He nodded, kissing her, and falling back onto the bed. It wasn’t long before enough clothing was pushed to the side, and they were rolling, him on top, pressing into her body fully with a soft moan. Amelia’s warmth slid around him like a blanket, all over his body, as she wrapped her limbs around him. They hadn’t made love in what felt like years. Maybe it had been that long, he wasn’t sure. His lack of a timeline seemed so real in the moment - had they been married for a few months or a few years?

 

She sighed, her eyes closing as he sped up. Her pulse jumped beneath her skin and he stared at it as he rocked into her, listening to their bodies collide with erotic intentions. His hands slid up to touch her neck, encircling it with his hands. A light touch, nothing more. But he knew, he could squeeze. He could squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze.

 

But what would the angels think. What would they say.

 

Why did he keep picturing himself murdering people?

 

Maybe he was trying invoke the static. Make the angels come back. He wanted to get to his higher purpose. Were the angels really the Devil? Was Satan trying to possess him? Was he the Antichrist?

 

The bed rocked so furtively and erratically, he could hear Amelia crying out loudly as he fucked her harder, faster, better. He would make her forget her other lovers, he would be her only husband, from now and until death parted them. Their breathing reached fever pitch and Jimmy heard someone cry out Jesus’ name in vain. The Lord was with them tonight.

 

Their religious experience ended with them both panting and lying on the messy bed, staring at the ceiling together. Amelia was saying something to him but he didn’t respond, so he just closed his eyes. The oblivion stretched on afterward, reaching its endless tendrils to wrap around his eyelids and body, cocooning him into darkness. Sleep followed.

 

\--

 

Of course, they didn’t get pregnant the first time or the second time or the third time.

 

They didn’t get pregnant for three more years. Not until in 1994. In 1994 they conceived and in 1995 Claire was born.

 

He had a daughter. A real, living, breathing baby with half of his genes inside of her. She looked just like her mother, all the way down to the golden hair on her head. Amelia lamented that it would probably turn darker since his hair was so dark, but Jimmy didn’t mind either way. She was the most beautiful thing to ever happen to him. She was also the reason he finally decided to pull his act together and reconnect with God.

 

Church and his family became number one in his life. If he took care of his family and spirituality, then God would care for his family. And then, maybe, the angels would return and he could finally do as they asked.

 

Claire was perfect. She grew quickly, too quickly, in Jimmy’s opinion, but he loved her. By the time she was three, he finally felt as though he had diaper changing down, but then soon after, she was learning to use the toilet. Like an adult. She wasn’t a fussy child, in fact, she was probably one of the more agreeable three year olds he’d ever met. He didn’t make it a point to hang out with three year olds, but his daughter was more behaved than most. She didn’t cry during church, in fact, she seemed to enjoy church. She _listened_ to the sermons, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.

 

He had started to wonder if the angels talked to her now.

 

Did she hear their voices too? Had they spoken to him at a such a young age as well? Maybe he didn’t remember them talking to him that young. Angels haunted him wherever he went. They hadn’t spoken to him in a while but they were always on his mind.

 

Late, on a Tuesday night, while Claire and Amelia both slept, Jimmy sat up watching television. Some serial killer had been caught after ten years, it was on a late night program. Half asleep, Jimmy could feel his head lolling backward, when the TV suddenly began to break up into static. The sound jarred him into being fully awake and he stared at the white noise making the picture jerk and jump. He smacked the TV on its side but the picture never cleared.

 

The longer he stared into the static the more he started to see an image forming, but not the one playing on the program. This one was… odd. The silhouette was tall and lanky, with protrusions coming out of its shoulders, jagged and sharp. The fingers on its hands were overly long, as if they had a few extra digits. Its face grew more and more clear the longer he stared and he realize with a twist of his stomach it bore no face at all; it was just a blank canvas. But there were eyes staring at him, thousands of them, maybe millions.

 

He blinked.

 

The image disappeared and the program returned to normal.

 

Jimmy shook his head. He watched too many horror movies for his own good. He blamed the Halloween season and the program he had just been watching on serial killers. Clearly, he needed to get some sleep. Turning the TV off, Jimmy eased his tired body to his feet and shuffled off toward the stairs. They creaked heavily beneath his feet and with every other stair, he could have sworn he heard the house groan his name. Sleep had never sounded so good.

 

At the top of the stairs, Jimmy stared down the hallway and realized it seemed to stretch on forever. Almost double what it usually stretched, its yawning, black, maw opened and ready to swallow him up into darkness. He shook his head, blinked his eyes a few times, but the hall never shrunk back to its normal size. So, he just started walking. He walked for what felt like forever before finally reaching the bedroom door. He should have counted his steps.

 

The bedroom door creaked ominously as he pushed it open, staring now into the darkness of his bedroom. He could just make out Amelia sleeping beneath the covers. The alarm clock stood red in the darkness, guiding him over to the bed, slowly slinking into the warmth. He draped an arm over his wife’s waist and shut his eyes.

 

The figure never left his dreams.

 

\--

 

“What are you reading about?”

 

Jimmy continued to pour over scripture and theology books, searching for a descriptor of _angels_.

 

“Jimmy? Honey?”

 

He jerked, looking up at his wife, who stood holding their daughter on her hip, looking concerned. “Oh, just… Reading.” He shrugged. “Wanted to be ahead of the game for Sunday is all.”

 

Amelia smiled, visibly relaxing. “Oh, good. That’s good to hear. I’m going to take Cla to the park, do you want to come?”

 

He stared at his wife and daughter for a moment too long, finally shaking his head ‘no’. “No, that’s alright. You two have fun, though.” He missed her sigh as he had returned to reading then, but when the door opened and shut he glanced up and around the empty house. The openness of the room suddenly made him nervous and he shifted uncomfortably before gathering up his books and taking them outside to sit in the backyard on the swing.

 

There were not many descriptions of angels that he could find in Scripture. He would have to talk to his priest about angels, see what he had to say. The figure that had appeared to him had to have been an angel, but it had been neither Holy nor angelic as far as he was concerned. But maybe angels were not the cherubs he had always imagined them being. He should have known, since angels were always on his mind, but he had never _seen_ an angel before, just heard them speak.

 

_“Jimmy.”_

 

He startled and looked around, dropping the Bible and books to the ground.

 

_“Jimmy.”_

 

“What do you want from me?!” he called out, seemingly to the ether. There was nothing in his backyard except himself and the trees. “What do you want?!”

 

_“Your time is coming soon Jimmy. Ten years. Ten years. Ten years.”_

 

“Ten years until _what_?!” He circled around, looking up to the sky, staring up at the clouds, wondering if the angels could see him staring up at them like a maniac. “Tell me!”

 

_“You must be patient.”_

 

“I’ve been patient my entire life, you son of a bitch! Did you come to me last night?!”

  
The static was creeping in. _Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static._

 

“No.”

 

_Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static._

 

Jimmy clutched his head, pulling at his hair, and screaming as loud as he could. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

 

_Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static._

 

 

\--

 

There was an angel with wings covering his face.

 

_“God is holier than us, I cannot see him.”_

 

Jimmy shut his eyes and prayed the angels would go away. He didn’t want to talk to them anymore. “Go away.”

 

The sky swirled and he had to roll over to throw up. His head ached from where it had hit the ground. He needed to go to the hospital. When he shut his eyes, the angel reappeared, so he forced his eyes back open. He didn’t want to see angels anymore. He didn’t want to hear them anymore either. He wanted it all to stop.

 

Jimmy slowly pulled himself to his feet and stumbled back into the house. Up to the bathroom. He ignored his reflection in the mirror because if he concentrated too hard, he would see the angels.

 

Pills.

 

Sleeping pills.

 

He counted them out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen left in the bottle. He swallowed them all down.

 

And waited.

 

\--

 

_Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static. Static.  Static. Static. Static. Static. Static._

 

\--

 

“He’s breathing. We’ve brought him back.”

 

There were too many people. Too much beeping. Too many wires. Where was he?

 

A face floated over his. “Jimmy? Jimmy can you hear me?”

 

 _Yes_. He wanted to say yes. But no words came.

 

“We’re losing him.”

 

Losing him? He didn’t want to be lost. He didn’t want the angels to come back. He tried to tell them to keep the angels away. _Static. Static. Static. Static._

 

“He’s seizing.”

 

\--

 

“Daddy.”

 

Jimmy slowly blinked and began to force his eyes open. His wife and daughter were sitting in the room with him; Amelia’s eyes were red and Claire was just reaching for him, a smile on her face. She had no idea, so he gave her a weak smile back, and opened his arms. Soon, his daughter was laying on him and he held her gently.

 

“Jimmy,” Amelia whispered brokenly. “ _Why_?”

 

He wanted to tell her about the angels but he kept quiet about them. “I’m sorry Amelia.”

 

“We can get you help… why didn’t you say you were depressed? Suicidal?” She slid closer to him, laying her hand on his arm. It was a comforting weight, keeping him grounded in a world that felt too fuzzy.

 

“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I think I was just… tired of the seizures and feeling crazy. I’m _sorry_ Amelia. I’m sorry I scared you.”

 

“I want you to get help, Jimmy.”

 

He nodded. “I will. I promise.”

 

She leaned in and kissed him, which he returned. A spark slid between them. He’d almost forgotten how much he loved his wife and daughter. As far as he was concerned, angels would never come between them again.

 

\--

 

 

The angels quit talking to him.

 

\--

 

 

\--

 

 

\--

 

 

\--

 

 

\--

 

 

\--

 

 

\--

 

 

\--

 

 

\--

 

 

The angels had started talking to him again. In particular, an angel named Castiel. The angel had been telling him about his higher purpose. Telling him he was to serve God, and God would reward him with eternal happiness. His family would reach Heaven’s gates and be welcomed with open arms. If only he did as the angels said.

 

So far, he had listened to them.

 

_“Prove your faith, Jimmy.”_

 

Jimmy startled so badly he almost dropped the spoon in his hand. His wife was at the store, Claire was doing her homework up in her room. There was boiling water on the stove.

 

_“Prove your faith, Jimmy. Place your hand in the boiling water. It will not hurt you.”_

 

He slowly turned his eyes onto the pot, staring into the bubbling water. He’d been burnt with boiling water once. It had only been a minor burn, accidentally splashing his arm with some water that had been meant for the noodles they were having for dinner. It had hurt. He couldn’t imagine what agony his arm would be in if he placed his arm in the boiling water now.

 

_“Prove your faith, Jimmy. Prove to me you are a devout man.”_

 

The lights flickered. Jimmy took a deep breath and slowly eased his arm into the water. It was stupid, trusting the angels now, but they had left him alone after his suicide attempt. He had also stopped having seizures for years, which was more than he could have ever asked for. He was also a devoted Christian now - he believed wholeheartedly in God and angels. God had been there for him in dark times.

 

The least he could do was serve Him.

 

The water did not hurt, it bubbled around his arm like a massage jet but it didn’t hurt. He didn’t hear his wife come in, not until a bag of groceries hitting the floor made him glance over.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” she gasped in horror. “Jimmy!”

 

He held up his hand, slowly removing his arm. “Look? See? I’m fine.” He smiled, feeing triumphant. “He asked me to do it.”

 

“ _Who_ did?”

 

“Castiel.”

 

“Who’s Castiel?”

 

“He’s an angel,” he replied, still smiling. “He wanted me to prove my faith. God has chosen me, Amelia. _Me_.”

 

Amelia stared at him as if he were insane, which in truth, he had feared. He did not want his wife to think he was insane. “Jimmy, angels… angels don’t talk to people.”

 

“Well, this one talks to me,” he said stubbornly.

 

That was the end of the conversation.

 

\--

 

“And how many times has this angel, Castiel, spoken to you?”

 

It was like Deja Vu. Once again, he was talking to a psychiatrist, having his sanity questioned simply because angels had chosen him. “A dozen times or more,” he replied offhandedly with a shrug.

 

“Hm.”

 

“You’re going to put me on medication, aren’t you?”

 

The psychiatrist slowly looked up at him from his notepad, calm, and still for a minute. “Considering your history, yes.”

 

Jimmy snorted and looked away. “I’m not sick,” he snapped angrily. He wouldn’t take the pills, he just wouldn’t. They would have to forcibly give them to him orally. He did not _need_ psych drugs - he needed someone to believe the truth.

 

“I’m writing you a prescription for an antipsychotic medication. You are to take it daily. If you do not improve, I will up your dosage, if you do, then we will keep you on a regimen.” The doctor handed him the prescription. “Take your pills, Mr. Novak.”

 

Jimmy snatched the piece of paper from the man and went to the drugstore to at least satisfy his wife part of the way. He refused to take them; for two weeks, he refused to take them. His wife confronted him about it on a weekend, when they both had time off, holding out the pills with tears on her face.

 

“Take your pills, Jimmy.”

 

“I’m not sick, Amelia.”

 

“Angels don’t talk to people,” she whispered.

 

“You believe in God.”

 

“Yes, _of_ course I do.” She paused and blinked more tears from her eyes, looking empty and afraid. She was afraid for him, he could see that.

 

“And angels?” he prompted, leaning forward.

 

“Jimmy, I do believe in these things-.”

 

“Then why is it so hard for you to believe they’re talking to me?”

 

“ _Because_ ,” she sobbed. “Because you sell ads for AM radio! You’re not a priest or-.”

 

“He said I was special,” Jimmy insisted angrily.

 

“What the hell does that mean?”

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Something about my blood, but he chose me, and I need you to believe it. You know some people would be _thankful_ that God chose them for a higher purpose.”

 

“ _What_ higher purpose?! You _have_ purpose here! You’re a father, a husband!” Amelia sank down onto the couch with him, shoving the pills at him. “Jimmy, please, just take your medication.”

 

“I don’t need them,” he whispered. “I don’t need the pills, Amelia. God chose me, I’m not going to question why.”

 

There was a long pause between them, where Amelia stared at him with a blank face, her eyes swimming with tears. “If you don’t take your pills, I will take Claire, and go to my mother’s house. I won’t come back, Jimmy.”

 

He sighed, looking away. “Amelia-.”

 

“No, _no_ , you have hurt me for the last time, Jimmy,” she hissed angrily. “I am tired of being hurt by you. I won’t let you drag Claire down with you too.”

 

He looked away and Amelia left the pills behind as she left the room. They mocked him coldly. Jimmy stood and went to get dressed. It was time to have a talk with Castiel.

 

\--

 

“Castiel, what do you want from me? I’m about to lose my family and… I don’t want to lose them, please, you have to help me.” Jimmy stared up at the sky helplessly. He had never felt more needy and desperate before in his life.

 

_I need you as a vessel, Jimmy. Your body. I will inhabit it. Then, our work can begin._

 

Jimmy nodded slowly.

 

_I need you to say yes when I ask to come in._

 

He nodded again. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what this meant, but he also did not feel as if he needed to question the authority of an angel.

 

_Will you be my vessel, Jimmy?_

 

“Yes.”

  
  


 


End file.
